


The Gift

by Queen_Of_Purgatory



Category: Naruto
Genre: Child Death, Child Marriage, F/M, War Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:48:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5317616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_Of_Purgatory/pseuds/Queen_Of_Purgatory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A child bride, Himeko Uchiha had grown into a winsome beauty, joyfully anticipating the day when her husband Tobirama, would claim her heart at last. </p><p>The man who now stood before her was powerfully handsome...a warrior-gentleman whose gentle touch aroused her to the deepest pleasures of love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift

The **Warring States Period**

(戦国時代, _Sengoku Jidai_ )

 

It was only a matter of time before the wedding guests killed one another.

 

Baron Shinji Fujioka had taken every precaution, of course, for it was his castle Daimyo Hikaru had chosen for the ceremony. He was acting as host until the daimyo of the Land of Fire arrived, a duty he embraced with as much joy as he would a three-day flogging; but the order had come from the daimyo himself, and Fujioka, ever loyal and obedient, had immediately complied. 

Both the Senju and the Uchiha clan had protested his selection most vehemently. Their noise was all for naught, however, for the daimyo was determined to have his way. Baron Fujioka understood the reason behind the decree. Unfortunately, he was the only man in the land still on speaking terms with both the bride's and the groom's families.

The baron wouldn't be able to boast about that fact much longer. He believed his time on the sweet earth could well be measured in heartbeats. Because the ceremony was to take place on neutral ground, the daimyo actually believed the gathering would behave. 

Fujioka knew better.

The men surrounding him were in a killing mood. One word given in the wrong tone of voice, one action perceived to be the least bit threatening could well become the spark needed to ignite the bloodbath. God only knew they were itching to get at one another. The looks on their faces said as much.

The bishop, dressed in ceremonial whites, sat in a high-backed chair between the two feuding families. He looked neither to the left, where the Uchiha's were sequestered, nor to the right, where the Senju were stationed, but stared straight ahead. To pass the time the clergyman drummed his fingertips on the wooden arm of his chair. He looked as though he'd just eaten a fair portion of sour fish. He let out a high-pitched sigh every now and then, a sound the baron thought was remarkably like the whinny of a cranky old horse, then let the damning silence envelop the great hall again.

Fujioka shook his head in despair. He knew he wouldn't get any help from the bishop when the real trouble broke out. Both the bride and the groom waited in separate chambers above the stairs. Only after the daimyo had arrived would they be led, or dragged, into the hall. God help the two of them then, for all hell would surely break loose.

It was a sorry day indeed. 

Fujioka had actually had to post his own contingent of guards between the daimyo's knights along the perimeter of the hall just as an added deterrent. Such an action at a wedding was unheard of, yet it was just as unheard of for the guests to come to the ceremony armed for battle. The Uchiha's were so loaded down with weapons they could barely move about. Their insolence was shameful, their loyalty more than suspect. Still, Fujioka was hard put to condemn the men completely. It was true that even he found it a challenge to blindly obey his leader. 

The daimyo was, after all, as daft as a duck.

Everyone knew he had lost his mind, yet no one dared speak the fact aloud. They'd lose their tongues, or worse, for daring to tell the truth. The marriage about to take place was more than ample testimony to any doubting Thomas's left in the group that their leader had lost his mind. The daimyo had told Fujioka he was determined to have everyone in his land getting along. The baron didn't have an easy answer to that childlike expectation.

But for all of his madness, Hikaru was their daimyo, and damn it all, thought Fujioka, the wedding guests should show a little respect. Their outrageous conduct shouldn't be tolerated. Why, two of the seasoned Uchiha uncles were blatantly fondling the hilts of their swords in obvious anticipation of the bloodletting. The Senju warriors immediately noticed and retaliated by taking a unified step forward. They didn't touch their weapons, though, and in truth most of the Senju clansmen weren't even armed. They smiled instead. Fujioka thought that action was just as telling.

The Senju outnumbered the Uchiha clan six to one. That didn't give them the advantage, however. The Uchiha men were a much meaner lot. The stories about their escapades were legendary. They were known to tear a man's eyes out just for squinting; they liked to kick an opponent in his groin for the fun of hearing him howl; and God only knew what they did to their enemies. The possibilities were simply too appalling to think about.

A commotion coming from the courtyard turned Fujioka's attention. The daimyo's personal assistant, a dour-faced man by the name of Sir Masao Kurosaki, rushed up the steps. He was dressed in festive garb, but the colorful red hose and white tunic made his imposing bulk all the more rotund-looking. Fujioka thought Masao resembled a plump rooster. Because he was his good friend, he kept that unkind opinion to himself.

The two men quickly embraced. Then Masao took a step back. In a hushed tone he said, "I rode ahead. The daimyo will be here in just a few more minutes."

"Thank God for that," Fujioka replied, his relief visible. He mopped at the beads of sweat on his brow with his linen handkerchief.

Masao glanced over Fujioka's shoulder, then shook his head. "It's as quiet as a tomb in your hall," he whispered. "Have you had a time of it keeping the wedding guests amused?"

Fujioka looked incredulous. "Amused? Masao, nothing short of a human sacrifice could keep those barbarians amused."

"I can see your sense of humor has helped you through this atrocity," his friend replied.

"I'm not jesting," the baron snapped. "You'll quit your smile, too, Masao, when you realize how volatile the situation has become. The Uchiha didn't come bearing wedding gifts, my friend. They're armed for battle. Yes, they are," he rushed on when his friend shook his head in apparent disbelief. "I tried to persuade them to leave their arsenal outside, but they wouldn't hear of it. They aren't in an accommodating mood."

"We'll see about that," Masao muttered. "The soldiers riding escort with our daimyo will disarm them in little time. I'll be damned if I allow our overlord to walk into such a threatening arena. This is a wedding, not a battlefield."

Masao proved to be as good as his threat. 

The Uchiha piled their weapons in the corner of the great hall when they were confronted with the order by the infuriated daimyo's assistant. The demand was backed up by some eighty loyal soldiers who'd taken up their positions in a circle around the guests. Even the Senju handed over their few weapons, but only after Masao ordered arrows put to the soldiers' bows.

If he lived to tell the tale, no one was ever going to believe him, Fujioka decided. Thankfully, Daimyo Hikaru had no idea what extreme measures had been taken to secure his protection.

When the daimyo walked into the great hall the soldiers immediately lowered their bows, though their arrows remained securely notched for a quick kill if the need arose.

The bishop rallied out of the chair, bowed formally to his daimyo, and then motioned for him to take his seat.

Two of the daimyo's barristers, their arms laden with documents, trailed in the daimyo's wake. Fujioka waited until his leader was seated, then hurried over to kneel before him. He spoke his pledge of loyalty in a loud, booming voice, hoping his words would shame the guests into showing like consideration.

The daimyo leaned forward, his big hands braced on his knees. "Your patriot lord is pleased with you, Baron Fujioka. I am your patriot lord, champion of all the people, am I not?"

Fujioka was prepared for that question. The daimyo had taken to calling himself by that name years before, and he liked to hear affirmation whenever possible.

"Yes, my lord, you are my patriot lord, champion of all the people."

"That's a good lad," the daimyo whispered. He reached out and patted the top of Fujioka's balding head. The baron blushed in embarrassment. The daimyo was treating him like a young squire. Worse, the baron was beginning to feel like one.

"Stand now, Baron Fujioka, and help me oversee this important occasion," the daimyo ordered.

Fujioka immediately did as he was told. When he got a close look at his leader he had to force himself not to show any outward reaction. He was stunned by the king's deteriorating appearance. Hikaru had been a handsome figure in his younger days. Age hadn't been kind to him. His jowls were fuller, his wrinkles deeper, and there were full bags of fatigue under his eyes. He wore a pale yellow wig, the ends rolled up on the sides, but the color made his complexion look all the more shallow.

The daimyo smiled up at his vassal in innocent expectation.

Fujioka smiled back. There was such kindness, such sincerity in his leader's expression. The baron was suddenly outraged on his behalf. For so many years, before his illness had made him confused, Hikaru had been far more than just an able lord. His attitude toward his subjects was that of a benevolent father watching over his children. He deserved better than he was getting.

The baron moved to the daimyo's side, then turned to look at the group of men he thought of as infidels. His voice shook with fury when he commanded, "Kneel!"

They knelt.

Masao was staring at Fujioka with the most amazed expression on his face. He obviously hadn't realized his friend could be so forceful. As to that, Fujioka had to admit that until that moment he hadn't known he had it in him either.

The daimyo was pleased with the united show of loyalty, and that was all that mattered. "Baron?" he said with a glance in Fujioka's direction. "Go and fetch the bride and groom. The hour grows late, and there is much to be done."

As Fujioka was bowing in answer to that command the king turned in his chair and looked up at Sir Masao. "Where are all the ladies? I daresay I don't see a single lady in evidence. Why is that, Masao?"

Masao didn't want to tell the daimyo the truth, that the men in attendance hadn't brought their women along because they were set on war, not merriment. Such honesty would only injure his lord's tender feelings.

"Yes, my patriot lord," Masao blurted out. "I have also noticed the lack of ladies."

"But why is that?" the daimyo persisted.

Masao's mind emptied of all plausible explanations to give for the oddity. In desperation he called out to his friend. "Why is that, Fujioka?"

The baron had just reached the entrance. He caught the edge of panic in his friend's tone and immediately turned around. "The journey here would have been too difficult for such… delicate ladies," he explained.

He almost choked on his words. 

The lie was outrageous, of course, for anyone who had ever met any of the Uchiha or Senju women knew they were about as delicate as jackals. Daimyo Hikaru's memory wasn't up to snuff, however, because his quick nod indicated he was appeased by the explanation.

The baron paused to glare at the gathering. It was their conduct, after all, that had forced the lie in the first place. He then continued on his errand.

The groom was the first to answer the summons.

As soon as the tall, lanky son of the Senju clan head entered the hall a wide path was made for him.

The groom strolled into the hall like a mighty warrior ready to inspect his subjects. If he'd been homely, Fujioka would have thought of him as a young, arrogant Genghis Khan. The boy was anything but homely, however. He had been gifted with white, shaggy hair and bright red eyes. His face was thin, angular, his nose already broken in a fight he had, of course, won. The slight bump on the bridge made his profile look less pretty and more ruggedly handsome.

Tobirama, as he was called by his immediate family, was the second oldest of four sons born to the current leader of the Senju clan. His father, Butsuma Senju, was a most unpleasant man under usual conditions, and when provoked he could be as vindictive and evil as Satan. He was known to be as mean as all the Senju relatives put together. Fujioka supposed that was the reason they all looked up to him for guidance on important matters.

Yet while Fujioka thoroughly disliked the man, he couldn't help but like Tobirama. He'd been in the boy's company several times, noticed on each occasion that he listened to the views the others had to give, and then did what he felt was best. He was just eight years old, yes, but he had already become his own man. Fujioka respected him. He felt a little sorry for him, too, for in all their visits together Fujioka had never once seen him smile and he thought that was a pity.

The Senju clan never called him by his given name, though. They referred to him simply as "boy," for in their eyes he had still to prove his worth to them. There were tests he would have to conquer first. The relatives didn't doubt the lad's eventual success. They believed he was a natural leader, knew from his size that he would be a giant of a man, and hoped, above all other considerations, that he would develop a streak as mean as their own. He was family, after all, and there were certain responsibilities that would fall on his shoulders.

Tobirama kept his gaze directed on the daimyo as he made his way over to stand in front of him. The baron watched him closely. He knew Tobirama had been instructed by his father and uncles not to kneel before the daimyo unless commanded to do so.

Tobirama ignored their instructions. He knelt on one knee, bowed his head, and stated his pledge of loyalty in a firm voice. When the daimyo asked him if he was his patriot king, a hint of a smile softened the boy's expression.

"Aye, my lord," Tobirama answered. "You are my patriot lord."

The baron's admiration for the boy increased tenfold. He could see from the daimyo's smile that he was also pleased. Tobirama's relatives weren't. Their scowls were hot enough to set fires. The Uchiha couldn't have been happier. 

They snickered in glee.

Tobirama suddenly bounded to his feet in one fluid motion. He turned to stare at the Uchiha's for a long, silent moment, and the look on his face, as cold as frost, seemed to chill the insolence right out of the men. The boy didn't turn back to the daimyo until most of the Uchiha's were intently staring at the floor. The Senju men couldn't help but grunt their approval.

The lad wasn't paying any attention to his relatives. He stood with his legs braced apart, his hands clasped behind his back, and stared straight ahead. His expression showed only boredom.

Fujioka walked directly in front of Tobirama so that he could nod to him. He wanted Tobirama to know how much his conduct had pleased him.

Tobirama responded by giving the baron a quick nod of his own. Fujioka hid his smile. The boy's arrogance warmed his heart. He had stood up to his relatives, ignoring the dire consequences that were sure to come, and had done the right thing. Fujioka felt very like a proud father—an odd reaction to be sure, for the baron had never married and had no children to call his own.

He wondered if Tobirama's mask of boredom would hold up throughout the long ceremony. With that question lurking in the back of his mind he went to fetch the bride.

He could hear her wailing when he reached the second story. The sound was interrupted by a man's angry shout. The baron knocked on the door twice before the Uchiha clan head, the bride's father, pulled it open. The man's face was as red as a sunburn.

"It's about time," he bellowed. 

"The daimyo was delayed," the baron answered.

He abruptly nodded. "Come inside, Fujioka. Help me get her down the stairs, man. She's being  stubborn."

There was such surprise in the man's voice, Fujioka almost smiled. "I've heard that stubbornness can be expected of such young daughters."

"I never heard such," he muttered. "It's the truth that this is the first time I've ever been alone with Himeko. I'm not certain she knows exactly who I am," he added. "I did tell her, of course, but you will see she isn't in the mood to listen to anyone. I had no idea she could be so difficult."

Fujioka couldn't hide his astonishment over the man's outrageous remarks. "Tajima," he answered, using the clan leader's given name, "you have five boys, as I recall, and they are older than Himeko. I don't understand how you can be so—"

Tajima didn't let him finish. "I only was active in their ninja training. My wife, Sayaka, she did all of the child rearing." he muttered.

Fujioka thought that confession was appalling. He shook his head and followed Tajima into the chamber. He spotted the bride right away. She was sitting on the edge of the window seat, staring out the window.

She quit crying as soon as she saw him.

Fujioka thought she was the most enchanting bride he'd ever seen. A mop of black curls framed an angelic face. There was a crown of spring flowers on her head, a cluster of freckles on the bridge of her nose. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her black eyes were cloudy with more.

She wore a long, pale yellow dress with lace borders around the hem and wrists. When she stood up the embroidered sash around her waist fell to the floor. 

Her father let out a loud blasphemy.

She repeated it.

"It's time for us to go downstairs, Himeko," her father ordered, his voice as sour as the taste of soap.

"No."

Tajima's outraged gasp filled the room. "When I get you home I'm going to make you very sorry you've put me through this ordeal, young lady. Just you wait and see."

Since the baron didn't have the faintest idea what the man meant by that absurd threat, he doubted Himeko understood any better.

She was staring up at her father with a mutinous expression on her face. Then she let out a loud yawn and sat down again.

"Tajima, shouting at your daughter isn't going to accomplish anything," the baron stated.

"Then I'll give her a real good smack," Tajima muttered. He took a threatening step toward his daughter, his hand raised to inflict the blow.

Fujioka stepped in front of the angry father. "You aren't going to strike her," he said, his voice filled with anger.

"She's my daughter," Tajima shouted. "I'll damn well do whatever it takes to get her obedience."

"You're a guest in my home now, Tajima," the baron replied. He realized he was also shouting then and immediately lowered his voice. "Let me have a try."

Fujioka turned to the bride. Himeko, he noticed, didn't seem to be at all worried by her father's anger. She let out another loud yawn.

"Himeko, it will all be over and done with in just a little while," the baron said. He knelt down in front of her, gave her a quick smile, and then gently forced her to stand up. While he whispered words of praise to her he retied the sash around her waist.

She yawned again.

The bride was in dire need of a nap. She let the baron tug her along to the door, then suddenly pulled out of his grasp, ran back to the window seat, and gathered up an old, red blanket that appeared to be three times her size.

She made a wide path around her father as she hurried back to the baron and took hold of his hand again. The blanket was draped over her shoulder and fell in a heap on the ground behind her. The edge was securely clasped under her nose.

Her father tried to take the blanket away.

Sara started screaming, her father started cursing, and the baron developed a pounding headache.

"Oh, for the love of God. Tajima, let her have the thing."

"I'll not," Tajima shouted. "It's an eyesore. I won't allow it."

"Let her keep it until we reach the hall," the baron commanded.

Tajima finally conceded defeat. He gave his daughter a good glare, then took up his position in front of the pair and led the way down the stairs.

Fujioka found himself wishing Himeko was his daughter. When she looked up at him and smiled so trustingly he wanted to take her into his arms and hug her. Her disposition underwent a radical change, however, when they reached the entrance to the hall and her father once again tried to take her blanket away.

Tobirama turned when he heard the noise coming from the entrance. His eyes widened in astonishment. In truth, he was having difficulty believing what he was seeing and for that reason he was all the more surprised by the sight of her.

His bride was a hellion.

Tajima was doing more shouting than his daughter was. She, however, was far more determined. She had her arms wrapped around her father's leg and was diligently trying to take a fair chunk out of his knee.

Tobirama smiled.

His father, and the rest of the Senju clan weren't as reserved. Their laughter filled the hall. The Uchiha, on the other hand, were clearly appalled. Tajima, their unspoken leader, had pulled his daughter away from his leg and was now involved in a tug of war over what resembled an old horse blanket. He wasn't winning the battle, either.

Baron Fujioka lost the last shreds of his composure. He grabbed hold of the bride, lifted her into his arms, snatched the blanket away from her father, and then marched over to Tobirama. With little ceremony he shoved the bride and the blanket into the groom's arms.

It was either accept her or drop her and Tobirama was in the process of making up his mind on the matter when Himeko spotted her father limping toward her. She quickly threw her arms around Tobirama's neck, wrapping both herself and her blanket around him.

Himeko kept glancing over his shoulder to make certain her father wasn't going to grab her. When she was certain she was safe she turned her full attention to the stranger holding her. She stared at him for the longest while.

The groom stood as straight as a lance. A fine sweat broke out on his brow. He could feel her gaze on his face yet didn't dare turn to look at her. She just might decide to bite him, and he didn't know what he would do then. He made up his mind that he would just have to suffer through any embarrassment she forced on him.

Himeko was, after all, only a child.

Tobirama kept his gaze directed on the daimyo until Himeko reached out to touch his cheek. He finally turned to look at her.

She had the prettiest black eyes he'd ever seen. "Papa's going to smack me," she announced with a grimace.

He didn't show any reaction to that statement. Himeko soon got tired of watching him. Her eyelids fell to half mast. He stiffened even more when she slumped against his shoulder. Her face was pressed up against the side of his neck.

"Don't let Papa smack me," she whispered.

"I won't," he answered.

He had suddenly become her protector. Tobirama couldn't hold onto his bored expression any longer. He cradled his bride in his arms and relaxed his stance.

Himeko, exhausted from the long ride and her strenuous tantrum, rubbed the edge of her blanket back and forth under her nose. Within bare minutes she was fast asleep.

She drooled on his neck.

The groom didn't find out her true age until the barrister began the reading of the conditions for the union.

 

His bride was four years old, the same age as his younger brother, Kawarama.

**Author's Note:**

> ***[Author's Note]***
> 
> Hey all! I know this really goes off the course to how the Naruto canon had it but it was an idea that I was playing with in my head.
> 
> In case you haven't figured it out Himeko Uchiha is the only daughter and youngest sibling to ...that's right you guessed him: Madara Uchiha himself.
> 
> This takes place during the war-torn era that is the Warring States Period during Hashirama and Tobirama's childhood with some tweaks from me, I hope you like it.
> 
> You know what to do; Kudos and Comment!


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